Priscilla (BEN Drowned, creepypasta of a creepypasta)
by drunken wanker
Summary: Years after the original BEN incident, a little girl named Priscilla, only 5 years old, begins to speak of a companion she calls BEN. This entry is the story of Priscilla's father, who just happens to be the previous roommate of Matt, or more widely known as JADUSABLE, and how one little hardrive he found in an old box could completely ruin his life.


My name is Rafael Howard. You have never heard my name, but you may know me as the former roommate of Matt, or more widely known as "Jadusable", the victim of an entity identified as "BEN" and author of his experience with "BEN". I have been a skeptic for years, shrugging off what I had heard and passing it off as some bizarre fantasy. It's been over 10 years since it happened, and only recently have I become victimized to a god damn video game. I know that many of you readers will pass this off as yet another crappy fanfiction written by a hormonal teenager who thinks they're the greatest writer ever, but I am here to tell you that the following events were things that happened to me, and have been written exactly as I experienced them. My hands are shaking, I don't want to relive this horror, but this is for my own good, and perhaps the good of others.

After graduating college, I met a woman, and just to save you some long, sappy love story, yes, we got married, had 2 children named Johnston and Priscilla, and lived as a normal family with a perfect life.

5 years later, boredom filling my soul and tearing apart my mind, I began to sort through old boxes in the basement. Old papers from college, old clothes I had meant to give to Goodwill, even some cool posters, were concealed in the cardboard and had been trapped in the basement all these years.

At the bottom of the box, I found an old flashdrive. I didn't remember using any flashdrives in the past and feeling to need the keep them as artifacts. Wondering why I saved the old thing, I plugged it into my computer. For reasons I didn't understand, the files automatically downloaded into my computer and revealed themselves to me.

Examining them thoroughly, I realized it was the old notes that Matt had taken back in college about "BEN". I mentally scolded myself for obeying his ridiculous orders at the time.

But whatever.

I sighed and shut off the monitor, standing up from my chair and not giving the notes much thought.

The days following were odd, and left me questioning my own skepticism.

Priscilla began talking about somebody named BEN. I ignored it at first, passing it off as the ordinary imaginary friend. And who can blame me? It was normal for her age, right?

She talked about him constantly, cutting off people around her to talk about her good friend. It was an annoying obsession, but she never stopped. Nothing struck me as suspicious, but eventually, I began to notice my son's strange behavior. And of course, being the idiot I am, it took me a while to link it with my daughter's companion.

He would murmur to me that he was scared of "him". My first instinct was to research anything related to child sexual abuse. I found so many of the same symptoms that my son was showing (shyness, anxiety, being reserved and quiet, extremely sensitive) that I often became paranoid, snapped, didn't get sleep at night.

A bit of stress was lifted from my shoulders one night when I tucked them in. Priscilla was drawing, my son was laying flat on his back on his bed with a troubled look on his face.

I finally asked him what was wrong.

He pondered me over, before sighing. "She keeps talking about him," he murmured, when Priscilla couldn't hear him.

"Him?"

He formed the word "Ben" with his lips.

I exhaled, relaxed, and pat his head. "He's just imaginary, John. Don't worry so much."

He just watched me, then turned his back to me and didn't utter a single word.

"Good night."

He still didn't respond.

I turned on my heel towards my little daughter. I graciously plucked the sketchbook from her fingers and pulled her ankles so she was laying down. She giggled happily.

"Whatcha drawin' there, pumpkin?" I lifted up the drawing, eyeballing it and then looking at Priscilla.

"It's BEN!" she chirped.

"BEN" had on a green shirt and green shorts, with an unsettling smile and fairly realistic, yet lifeless eyes. Despite how fucking creeped out I was, it was actually not bad for a 5 year old.

"It's wonderful, honey," I managed with a forced smile.

She smiled and clapped her hands.

"Good night, daddy." She wrapped her arms around my neck in a tight, suffocating hug and released me, curling up under her covers with a smile on her face. I ruffled her curly brown hair and stood up.

"Night, princess."

In the doorway, I payed one last glance at my son before switching off the light and shutting the door.

It was later that night that I heard some kind of swishing noise.

My first instict was the bathroom.

There was nothing.

I ventured through my dark house, down to the backyard, to our pool.

I kneeled down before the edge to turn on the lights, and as soon as I did, I found a body.

My daughter's body.

Under the surface, still, lifeless.

I instantly reached my hands down to pull her out.

"Priscilla! Priscilla! Jesus christ, honey, please be okay. Please, please, please-"

"Daddy?"

I heard a small voice behind me. I turned to it, recognizing it.

It was my very own daughter.

I just watched her in shock and confusion. When I looked back at the pool, there was nothing there. Just dark, lit up water.

"Wh-what..."

My wife came next to Priscilla, suddenly, bags under her eyes and annoyance in her gritted teeth.

"Raf, it's after midnight, what in the name of God are you doing out here?"

It took me a while, but I finally answered simply, "Nothing."

I pushed past them and went back to bed.

We acted like it never happened the next morning.

But it happened again.

This time, it wasn't my daughter.

Under the water was a young man, maybe in his early twenties or late teens.

I stared at him, questioning my sanity, when suddenly...

He opened his eyes.

I nearly leapt out of my skin and proceeded to bolt back inside, into the warmth of my bed and my wife.

I shook under the covers, and when I looked out from under them

A face was in my window. The same person I had seen in my pool.

His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead, I could only see part of his pupils, and that's the only details I could distinct before I buried my face into my pillow.

After that night, I began to distance myself from everyone.

My kids often wanted me to play, asked why I barely ate dinner anymore. I didnt tell them the truth. In fact, I didnt tell them anything.

One night, I found my son in the corner of his bedroom, face in his hands, crying.

His TV was on, his controller on the floor.

I looked at the TV screen. The static was growling, and suddenly, a hand slapped against the glass.

I nearly screamed. "FUCK!"

I reluctantly attempted to turn it off, but it didnt respond. I yanked the plug out the wall...

But the static continued to rumble on.

I scooped my son up in my arms and ran like Hell had broken loose.

Well, it technically had.

I sat my son into the back seat and shut it, running in to collect my wife and daughter.

Once we were all in the car, I sped off, leaving behind my haunted house and driving nowhere in particular.

We were all quiet. I finally parked into the parking lot of a hotel.

There was a pool there.

Life was calm for a couple days. I allowed my kids to play in the pool. We ate dinner together as a family, for the first time in a while.

One afternoon, when Johnston and Priscilla were swimming, Priscilla told me, "Daddy, BEN doesn't like the water!"

It took me a few minutes to remember the previous events of our swimming pool at home. I shuddered, but smiled at my 5 year old.

The worst day of my life occured a week later.

Priscilla couldnt breathe.

My brain was fuzzy and in denial when I took her to the hospital and the doctor told me that Priscilla had water in her lungs, and that this could be potentially fatal.

And of course...

She died a few hours later.

My baby.

My little girl.

My princess.

My daughter.

Gone.

The doctor called my wife and told her the news.

Everyone was quiet and solemn when I returned home.

I eventually resorted to heavy drinking. I barely remember what I did when I was drunk, but when I was sober, my son was bruised, scared, and kept a distance from me.

Finally, my wife gave up. She went to stay with her parents, and took Johnston with her.

I decided to go back to the house.

Everything was so quiet, so... eerie all the time.

Within a week, my house had beer bottles and the odor of cigarette smoke everything.

And I have found memos written on my computer, criticizing all the horrible things I've done the last couple of months and concluding it with, "You shouldnt have done that."

I have destroyed the hard drive with Matt's notes on it.

I have deleted the files from my computer.

And this is the last time anyone will be hearing from me.

I am fully convinced that I have destroyed every last trace of BEN except myself.

Soon enough, once I'm finished writing this document, I will off myself. I will not be around anymore. I will post this and then burn down the house with me in it.

I dont want BEN to spread.

I dont want to live.

And I dont want anyone to suffer as badly as I did.

Please be careful.

And cherish what you have.

Because one day, it may all be taken away.

And it may all be your very own fault.

Good night.

And goodbye.

-Rafael Howard.


End file.
